


Crutch

by chairofthebored



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4429295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chairofthebored/pseuds/chairofthebored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse's been an addict of some sort or other for almost as long as he can remember - Mr White helps him out with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crutch

Jesse's never known when to stop.

When he was a kid, he ate all his halloween candy at once and ended up puking in his pumpkin-shaped trick or treat bucket.

When he was 13, he tried his first cigarette and spent every lunchtime afterwards slinking off for a smoke with his boys.

When he was 14, there was weed, and that kept him happy for a while. But there's always been this itch inside him, this restlessness, this urge to experiment with himself, to find a new way to fuck around with his state of mind, to climb higher.

In his late teens there was speed, coke, molly, an acid trip that he'd rather forget, and various other pills and powders that he can't list the names of - but it never seemed to be enough. As much as he loved the novelty and excitement of putting something in his body and watching as the way his brain processed the world got turned upside down, he never got a taste for any specific drug. He's heard people say druggies who aren't addicts just haven't found their perfect drug yet. When he thinks back, he guesses he spent those years searching for it. He was well acquainted with the urge to self destruct, even then.

Eventually his perfect drug found him - some girl at some party just casually offered him a hit, and it was like pure electricity, like his consciousness was zapping out of his brain and all around his body, kind of. In a good way. He never looked back. It was the best feeling ever, the best thing in his life. It was kind of like falling in love with a girl who he knew was bad for him, but it was ok because she fucked his brains out.

Jesse reflects on this as he rings the doorbell of Mr White's condo. It's been 6 weeks since he kicked the meth, the longest ever. But he woke up today thinking about it, and he can't do anything to stop himself _wanting_ it. He's been trying all day, and he knows only one thing will help. He doesn't like being reliant on Mr White to stop him relapsing, but really, he can't complain. It's not like Mr White's version of a safety net isn't pretty much the best thing ever.


End file.
